In my research to provide you with the best resources for Zen Teaching, I came across the following quotation which was shared by Mrs. Mindfulness*:

"If I were called upon to state in a few words the essence of everything I was trying to say, it would be something like this: Listen to your life. See it for the fathomless mystery that it is.

In the boredom and pain of it no less than in the excitement and gladness: touch, taste, smell your way to the holy and hidden heart of it because in the last analysis all moments are key moments, and life itself is grace." --Frederick Buechner

What a great reminder that every moment is precious, that mindfulness is a gift we give ourselves, and that we must use our senses to appreciate the grace and beauty of life--whether we are in the sunshine or the storm.

In a recent English department meeting, I was talking to a teacher friend about how The Education Machine is broken. I wondered how we can be expected to produce and succeed, let alone thrive in an industry that asks so much when it gives so little. Then she gave me that, "How cute they are when they don't understand" look.

"The Machine's always been broken," she said. Like me, she'd been teaching for decades, and so I've learned to trust her perspective on these things. "And look at the wonderful things it's able to do. Just as each of us is broken, all of us in our own ways, and look at all the wonderful things we're able to do. We may all be broken, but we do great things in the classroom, anyway."

I realized then I hadn't been talking about The Broken Machine so much as complaining.

I still believe that exploring teacher well-being in a world that devalues our work and effort and seems dismissive of our needs is a conversation that is currently not happening and is certainly worth having. I've seen my job here at The Zen Teacher as reminding us that, as educators, we need to take care of ourselves and each other in the face of an educational system that seems completely oblivious to what would help us thrive.

And I personally have seen this intra-industry apathy cause skillful, engaging, and committed teachers to go elsewhere. It has also meant that fewer college students are entering teacher prep programs than ever before (I've seen my anecdotal evidence has now been confirmed by recent media reports).

But my fellow English teacher's wisdom has given me a new, more positive outlook and brought me around, Zen-like, to an inescapable conclusion: Detaching from the immutable conditions of a situation and accepting what is and moving forward will yield far more results than dragging our feet and complaining about what isn't and what should be. We can always take what we have and do our best and make something good with it--namely, students who care about others and want to learn in perpetuity forever after.

I've always been proud to be a teacher, but hearing that a broken machine (and its broken cogs) can still do great things gave me a renewed sense of hope and commitment.

And I hope that I am sometimes able to provide that for you here as well.

I learned one of the most important lessons in my entire teaching career during an evacuation drill.

I was standing in the bleachers of our school stadium waiting for the office to issue the “All Clear” and send us back to class. Even then I understood that fire, evacuation, and lockdown drills were an important part of the public school experience, but I was worried about the lost instructional time and already mulling over how I would adjust the lesson to make up for what we missed. Surely, I reasoned, thinking about these things during the drill proved that I was a conscientious and responsible teacher.

But then I looked down at the football field and saw Mr. Ross, our history and government teacher, with his Senior AP class. I already knew Mr. Ross was one of the brightest and wisest teachers on our staff, but I was stunned when I saw his class sitting in a semi-circle, criss-cross applesauce, textbooks on their laps. Mr. Ross held his own textbook open and was teaching them the next lesson he hoped would improve their scores on the upcoming AP Test. For a long while, I just watched in awe as he held court and his students jotted their notes.

What did I learn that day?

I learned that:

You don't need a computer to teach.You don't need Google Docs to teach.You don't need an iPad to teach.You don't need a large screen projection system to teach.You don't need a white board or dry erase markers to teach.While they might be helpful, you probably don't need textbooks to teach, either.As Mr. Ross proved that day, you don't even need a CLASSROOM to teach.

Stressor: A 7:45 Collaboration Meeting where the Spring state standardized testing schedule is introduced, including two full weeks (though, of course, not consecutive) of altered scheduling--in this case, a modified block schedule with odd and even days. In total, an entire month of curriuclus interruptus.

Zen Remedy: During the meeting, many laughs with the greatest English Department ever. Hot coffee, music, and meditation, post-meeting back in the classroom before teaching day begins.

Stressor: The 40 Sophomores in Period 4 go in 40 different directions, including being out of assigned seats, a cacophonic (is that an adjective?) noise level, projectile debris, negligible effort on Macbeth review, and already answered questions answered again multiple times in multiple ways.

Zen Remedy: Focus on stillness, silence, and deep, slow breathing until they settle and are ready to proceed. Laugh with them when and where I can.

Zen Remedy: Walking meditation to office from classroom. Appreciate birds, sky, clouds. Music on prep period. Unexpected, after school drop-in visit from old friend where we talk about writing, Zen, family, and life.

Stressor: A class set of Great Gatsby essays to be graded after dinner.Zen Remedy: Grade ten essays followed by slippers, hot buttered popcorn, and Netflixing (is that a verb?) The Dick Van Dyke Show. Much laughter.*

These days, the Yin and Yang of education shows that for each stressor in our professional life, we should arrange for an equal and opposite Zen Remedy.

So, what are yours? TZT

*It's worth noting, I think, that laughter seems to be a recurring theme in the remedy of it all.

In I Am Malala by Malala Yousafzai, the young protagonist faces incomprehensible challenges. The Swat Valley of Pakistan where she lived, for example, was caught in a lethal vice between an impotent, but omnipresent national army and The Taliban terrorists who were bombing her homeland to dust. These same zealots routinely threatened the citizens, especially women, if they did not adhere to strict religious edicts, and censored and suppressed the citizens' access to media that would give them both thought and alternative voices. Furthermore, she endured Taliban suicide bombers who targeted local schools, reducing the buildings to rubble and injuring and/or killing innocent school children and teachers in the process. And then, when she first wanted an education and then spoke out in favor of getting one (and, given her culture and gender, the fact that she was getting one at all was, by itself, no small miracle), she weathered not only persecution from her neighbors but, as it turns out, sadly credible death threats. Finally, as she refused to stop attending school or speaking out in favor of an educational system that honors and values both genders, she was hunted down, shot, separated from her family, and came frighteningly close to losing her life.

As much as I am both horrified and inspired by her story, I can, of course, relate to Malala's plight in only the most intellectual, superficial level. In a world where one of my greatest challenges is that Time Warner might turn off my cable from lack of payment and my family won't get to see the next episode of The Amazing Race, I have absolutely zero idea what it means to go through what she’s gone through.

And of course my first impulse after I finished reading was to take her story to my students, hold up the book, and say, "Here is a girl who was willing to die for what you have and risked her life to speak up for what we all take for granted each and every day of our lives. Do you see this? You're lucky to be in these desks, no matter how boring you think I am." And yet, I quickly realized that sermonizing to my students wouldn't help them understand.

About now you're probably thinking, "Okay, Dan, where is the Zen?"

The Zen Moment here is not in what Malala's story can teach my students, but in what her story taught me about my own life. This young girl, who won the Nobel Peace Prize at an age younger than the age I was when I earned a driver's license (to that date, my greatest achievement--and perhaps, still), taught me that maybe, just maybe, I could be a little bolder, a little braver when it came to my choices not only about education, but about life.

The Zen Moment here is that I can detach from my fears and my expected outcomes, accept what is, and then I can speak up. I can start where I am and make change. I can create peace in myself by creating a spiritual alignment between what's in my soul and fighting for what I believe in. I am NOT Malala, but maybe because of her inspiration, I can be a better me.

In the end, I will never ever, so long as I live, be the hero Malala Yousafzai is. But the next time I hold back from speaking in a meeting about something I believe in, the next time I cower in the face of risk at trying something new inside (or outside) the classroom, the next time I begin to ignore my passions, the next time I must go up against forces that seem overpowering and intimidating, I will think of Malala and it will motivate me to push forward, to not be afraid, and to do what I must--even in the face of what seems unbearable because, if I remember Malala, I’ll know that it is not. TZT